In The Oak

HE leaves and tassels of the

Were golden-green with May,

Pavilion whence forever

Some angel roundelay.

A carol like a glory

From topmost twig astir,

Enkindled by a flying flame,

The scarlet tanager.

The tree was glad as

When, eager soul on soul,

The saints flock home.

There glistened twiceA wild-throat oriole;

And once the grosbeak's rosy

Poured its enchanted hymn;

While sunny wing and jewel

Lit many a blissful limb.

The whole wide world was in my

Whose catkins danced for mirth,— Plumes gray as curling city smoke,

Plumes brown as fresh-plowed earth;

Even heaven had graced our festival,

For oft the loving

Would find, coaxed by a wistful call,

The bluebird's fleck of sky.